tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-206101082018-05-17T15:34:44.182+05:30G.B.C.I - Gujarat Bred Confused IyerRevshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.comBlogger207125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-18045439766766610672015-11-02T00:10:00.001+05:302015-11-02T00:10:21.084+05:30The Sound of Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Phew. This has been a silent space hasn’t it?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I have seen graveyards that have seen more action than this blog. I mean that more as an analogy than as an “I am so cool, I go to see graveyards in the night”. I am not. Cool I mean. I can’t sleep alone at night without keeping the light on, let alone visit graveyards at night. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So that’s that. Now that we have established how sepulchral this blog is and the fact that I am probably the only person who will read this I am going to go ahead and say a lot of nonsense. Just in an attempt to revive this blog which used to such a happy place once. At least for me. <nostalgia><o:p></o:p></nostalgia></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">1) The last time I wrote on this space I was 26, unmarried, carefree, stupid, had long hair, was staying in Chennai and teaching children. Three years and one month later ALL of that has changed. I am now 29, very married, more mature than I want to be, have a boy cut now (which I think suits me a LOT :P), living in Hyderabad and not teaching children.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">2. So what made me stop blogging. Nothing actually. Just that life caught up. And a more demanding job happened. And the mind became preoccupied with things that I will not even remember 5 years down the line and then feel sad that I left my life largely undocumented. And twitter happened. And suddenly it felt like 140 characters were enough to talk about everything that mattered in my life. Even for a locquacious person like me, twitter worked. It was easy, it was fast, it required less effort and it gave me the false sense of accomplishment of writing and being read.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">3. Non sequitur, but I don’t know why people in India are celebrating Halloween. Like really guys. Are the state of affairs in this country not scary enough that now you want to dress up and paint yourself to look scary and go to a party? Now before you read further, let me tell you, I hate parties of any kind. Halloween or otherwise. I hate socializing with people I don’t like or in some cases I don’t know, I don’t drink and it makes me nauseous to stand in a crowd of drunk people who don’t really care whether I exist or not. I prefer one on one conversations in a quiet place where people are genuinely interested in knowing each other and are sober.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">My idea of a perfect Saturday night is snuggled under a bedsheet reading a nice book or watching a nice movie or talking to a good friend.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Now that, that is established let me proceed to tell all the zero of you why I have a problem with Halloween. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">a) I can’t stand it when people don’t question stuff and do something blindly. Blame it on my teacher genes that I NEED people to question and argue and think for themselves. If more people questioned and thought for themselves, religion wouldn’t exist, caste wouldn’t exist, gender inequality wouldn't exist, the beef ban wouldn't exist, BJP government wouldn’t exist and Chetan Bhagat and Amish Tripathi (puke!) wouldn’t exist. So my fundamental problem with Halloween is not why not? But really why? There aren’t dearth of festivals to celebrate in India. There are too fucking many of them anyway. There isn’t a dearth of opportunities to meet people. We are a bloody overcrowded country. It’s not like we don’t get enough opportunities to look scary. We take enough opportunities to cake our faces with make-up and scare little children and finally we would all do well to eat less chocolate, prevent diabetes, get some exercise and NOT celebrate Halloween. Phew!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">b) No one has ANY idea why people celebrate Halloween. As research (cough) for this post I looked it up online and <b><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/halloween/11965025/Halloween-2015-Why-we-trick-or-treat-eat-candy-and-sweets-and-wear-scary-costumes.html">THIS</a></b> is why Americans celebrate Halloween. It is apparently celebrated to denote the end of Summer. <guffaws>. And people in Chennai are celebrating it. Honestly it doesn’t get funnier than this. Chennai makkal, if you start putting on scary make up to celebrate the end of Summer, you need to drive yourself to the nearest mental asylum because end of summer for Chennai is like end of intolerance in the BJP regime. It doesn’t exist.<o:p></o:p></guffaws></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">4) I have been reading this book called “The Difficult of Being Good” by Gurucharan Das and honestly the book speaks to my soul. It is the quintessential problem I have. When does one stop being good and start being selfish or start doing things that may not be for larger good but for personal good? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I am the last person on this planet to be religious (I am an evangelical atheist) but the book really made me question “what is my dharma”. Is it to do things that are for the greater good of the universe, is it to do things that are for my good or is it to do things that for the greater good of the people I serve. It explores the concept of dharma from the angle of various characters in the Mahabharata (which is my MOST favorite epic btw)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">What makes a person good and why be good if it doesn’t come with any tangible “benefits”? &nbsp;I know that I do what I do in every aspect of life because I think it is the right thing to do and because my conscience would kind of eat me alive if I did something it doesn’t fully agree with. I do believe that I am very intrinsically motivated and extrinsic factors like people, money, fame, popularity do not bother me at all. Especially money. Of the 101 future plans that I have making money doesn’t feature in the top 200 things to do before I die.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">But there are times where I ponder about the why? Why do I do it when the only thing I “get” is a deep sense of satisfaction and a sense that I have upheld the values I hold close to my heart. &nbsp;Which is basically a lot of bunkum if you ask me!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Which then makes me think that maybe I am not as intrinsically motivated as I thought myself to me. Maybe I do seek some sort of validation or external reward because otherwise I wouldn’t feel that way. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Things have always been very black and white for me and I have always thought that gray areas are areas of self-doubt&nbsp; and uncertainty but this book has really made me think!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It ALMOST made me believe in karma. Do read if you are in the mood for some deep thinking and reflection.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">5) In the past 3 years I have stopped doing things that I like doing. Namely<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Writing<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Playing (any game)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Trekking<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Singing<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Watching plays<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Writing to friends<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Talking to friends<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Talking<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It could be because work is now SUPER exciting BUT all consuming and work + domestic chores (did I mention I am now married!?!) take up all my time, but I GENUINELY believe that if you want to do something you WILL find time to do it and if you find excuses to not do something then chances are that those things are no longer priority for you. This makes me sad. To realise that the above list of things are no longer a priority for me because other things like cooking, reading books and teaching I still find time to do despite my schedules. I know that as we grow older priorities change, we become different people, our interests and desires change but I do want to go back to a time when all of these things AND work AND people were a priority for me. Pch. This growing older business can really suck.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">For the fact that I have not written anything in the past 3 years, I think this is a decent effort and I will try to write more often so I don't come in here three years later and think about how I have not written anything.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b>P.S:</b> Why the title for this post you ask? (I know no one's asking but I will still tell. Yes?)&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I always think silence makes the loudest sound and just by virtue of it's presence it makes the absence of sound felt. Like an argument with your spouse when the silence is so LOUD you want to scream or the silence in an exam hall which is filled with the noise of working brains. Like the silence on this blog. Which is screaming with past memories and nostalgia :)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-50287180892164143432012-10-13T03:29:00.003+05:302012-10-16T21:29:29.955+05:30Dear Malala<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div style="background-color: white;"></div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Dear Malala,</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Even as I am writing this, you are struggling between life and death, with an entire nation, nay, a world that prays for your speedy and safe recovery.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">The first thing I did when I heard about what happened to you was of course google your name and I was shocked to see your year of birth as 1998. As young as 14! It took me back to what I was doing when I was 14.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Preparing for my boards exams, waiting for a Harry Potter novel, struggling with weight issues, worrying about pimples and a bunch of other things which seemed awfully important to me back then.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Education and women's rights activism? Naah not a chance in the world.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Writing a blog and expressing my views on promoting education for girls? I am pretty sure I was still writing essays titled "Television, boon or bane," back then.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Fighting to get the girls in my country educated? Nope! (I would most likely have fought for the opposite at that age and the maturity level that I had back then)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Getting threats from militant organistions? I am not sure I even knew what that term meant back then.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">In relative comparison to you, the 14th year of my life makes me look painfully retarded.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">I was brought up in a cocooned atmosphere. Education was almost a birth right. There was never a threat or danger to me receiving quality education, which is probably why I never valued it back then.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">Today, I am a teacher. Teaching 8 year old kids in an impoverished government school in Chennai and your shooting angers me to no end. It leaves a dull ache in my heart because I have a very vague idea of what you are fighting for. Because I have a class of 7 girls and 21 boys and despite all odds being in their favor (lack of militant organisations, lack of people thinking 10-14 year old girls are threats, no fear of someone pumping bullets in your head, lack of death threats, etc) quality education seems like a distant dream.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">You inspire me Malala</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">To go out there everyday and try my best and give my children the very best education that I can and help them fight against all the odds stacked against them</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">To try and instill in them whatever it was that your father instilled in you that made you so socially aware and sensitive way before the age of 14</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">To tell my girls your story so they understand what a struggle it is for girls in some parts of the world to go to school. And that problems of lack of running water and clean toilets pale in comparision to the problems of bullets in your head.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">To tell my boys your story and sensitise them so they can send their sisters to school</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">To increase the enrollment ratio of girls in my school (I have 28 kids. The ratio in my class is 1:3 in favor of the boys)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">You humble me Malala. immensely</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">I am almost twice as old as you are and I thought I was doing something awfully important when I started my fellowship with Teach for India.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">There are times when I feel sorry for myself that I have to teach in a classroom which has no electricity. Better than living the constant fear that you might have no school.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">There are times when I feel sorry for my children that they have to walk barefeet to reach school. Pales in comparison to walking in mortal fear of your life</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">There are times when I think I am doing as much as I can and leave the rest to chance. I realise now that now that it is a continuous fight. That one day all children WILL attain an excellent education come what may.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">You give me hope Malala,</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">For in the times we live in, you give me immense hope</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">On the days that I think I am fighting a losing battle, I shall think of you and fight harder.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">On the days that I think that my country does not give importance to education and girls, I shall think of you and ask myself what can I do about it</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">On the days that I am trying to talk to yet another parent who thinks education is not important for her girl child, I shall think of you and try harder</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">On the days that I think I am powerless against irrepressible forces, I shall think of your young 14 year old face and it will make my resolve stronger</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">I look at your picture and it makes me want to cry. Try as I might, I cannot for the life of me find anything threatening about this picture. I only see an innocent little girl with an iron resolve to make things better for herself and her country.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">And I cannot begin to imagine what went through the minds of those who thought it was necessary to wipe you off the face of the earth and continue to bay for your blood.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">I don’t know when you will recover. I don’t know how you will fight the forces that be. I don't know if the women in your country (and mine) will ever become truly liberated and educated in our time but one thing I know for sure, is that you give immense inspiration and hope to girls and women in your country (and mine) and you make our fight stronger</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;">May your tribe increase.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;"><br /></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yAGmi6bp4kE/UHiSwNmollI/AAAAAAAAGZw/0LwU7Ix1GVc/s1600/Malala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yAGmi6bp4kE/UHiSwNmollI/AAAAAAAAGZw/0LwU7Ix1GVc/s320/Malala.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 16.5px;"><br /></span></span></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-46047848879551405092012-10-06T23:09:00.005+05:302012-10-06T23:27:05.367+05:30Messed up Metaphors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">So the tea shop right outside my school is a METAPHOR which I frequently use to tell my children about the kind of lives they should NOT aspire for.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Any child who does not do homework, does not come to school or uses poor language is always told, "Do you want to be like those men sitting in the tea shop in the morning? Always drinking tea and never doing any work? Have you seen a policeman drink tea there? Have you seen a doctor drink tea there? Have you seen a pilot come and drink tea there? The tea shop owner himself doesn't sit and drink tea there because he is busy making tea and doing work" and so on.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">It is the MOST successful METAPHOR in my class and gets my kids in line almost instantly. I can almost hear their thoughts, "Must. NOT. drink. tea. in. tea. shop"</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">So today morning (an off day for kids but teachers had to come) tragedy struck when I was caught drinking tea at the tea shop by two of my students.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Dai, paaru da, miss tea kudikaranga (Hey look, Miss is drinking tea) said in the same tone used to say, "Look, miss has been caught with a glass of whisky"</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Oh.My.God!</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Kill me now</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">In my defense, It was NOT A WORKING DAY AND I WANTED TO DRINK TEA! Arrrgh!</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Also, it's ONLY a metaphor! Hullo!</span></span></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-67658341267774898962012-08-08T22:47:00.003+05:302012-08-08T22:51:54.546+05:30Bits and pieces from an ordinary life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><b>1. </b>So last week saw me falling down a flight of stairs and severely hurting my bum, so much so that the tissues around my bum are now totally damaged which means I can't sit. At all.<br />Yes. I shall now pause and wait for you to finish laughing and cracking all the bum jokes that you can think of. I have already cracked the "Sorry yaar, mai bumaar hoon" joke and have had other inconsiderate friends cracking the "How are you? hope you are doing kickass".<br />And this means I cannot cycle to school for at least a week, which is quite sad given its the only form of physical exercise I get (does shouting at kids, standing all day in a classroom with no electricity and running after kids during recess count by the way?). I really enjoy the early morning ride to school. Helps me plan my day and clear my head. Need to fix this posterior of mine, and fast.<br />Also these things have a way of happening to me. I was walking carefully down the stairs and the next thing I knew Dham dham dham and my tail bone is now severely injured.<br /><br /><b>2.</b> Also with the Olympics going on an everything I have been following the news about Olympics on and off. And I have been laughing ever since I heard that the gold medal in trampoline was won by ..... wait for it... Dong Dong! -<br />HAHHAHAHHAHHHAHHAHHHAH.<br />but seriously. The only thing I can think of is that his parents named him after they heard the noise he made while jumping on the trampoline when he was a baby. Dong Dong Dong Dong.<br />Also I am curious to know if he has a brother called Ding and another one called Bell. Also is Dong both his first AND last name? Now that would be seriously funny!<br />And do people in his house rush to the door every time they hear his name because you know, how does one differentiate between a doorbell and a name like Dong Dong.<br />Here's the link by the way - <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetorch/2012/08/08/158415024/lets-catch-up-london-abuzz-over-womens-soccer-and-an-alternate-medal-count">DONG DONG</a><br /><br /><b>3. </b>Teaching third grade kids who don't understand a word of English has to be the MOST challenging thing I ever did. (a close second would be watching half an Emraan Hashmi movie.) I realise that to make them understand I am increasingly beginning to talk like a retard. "You go house and write homework" I said yesterday and mentally kicked myself for how awful my english had become. In my defense when they dont know what home means and finish means I cant really say "Go home and finish homework" no?. Also the kind of questions I am being asked are quite legendary. So I was teaching subtraction with borrow and the number was 912 - 678 and this kid says "Miss tens so poor, have only one number. I borrow directly from hundreds? Yes?" and proceeded to do just that. kept the 1 in 912 intact and borrowed two times from 9 instead! Sighness. And dont you DARE say, oh my what a creative child because I will kick you where it hurts!<br /><br /><b>4. </b>The weekend also saw me watching Ice Age 2 (where I had to constantly shift positions from one bum to the other because well, I cant sit properly without pain otherwise. This qualifies as the MOST embarrassing and uncomfortable injury ever and I have had some serious injuries before.)<br />I LOVED the movie and it made me wish I was IN the ice age while the continent drifted apart. SO MUCH coolness. Wow. Also Diego gets a girlfriend! :)<br />And Sid is still my favorite ice age character. My favorite scene is when Manny says "Diego is suffering from the L word" and Sid says "Leprosy?" and Manny says "No. It starts with an L and ends with an E" and Sid says, "Lice?". Hahahha! Also, there is an Indian villain in the movie who is called Gupta! Heh! Do watch it. The 3D is not great but the movie is awesome<br /><br /><b>5. </b>And tomorrow is a HOLIDAY! Yay! :D. I am probably more excited than my kids at having a holiday. Its my first one in two months and if you have ever been a primary school teacher you will know how hectic and awfully busy the first two months of school can be. Both professionally and personally I have been SO busy in the past two months that its not even funny. Tomorrow I shall reply to emails from friends which have been languishing in my inbox for ages (Sorry <a href="http://beingbalaji.blogspot.in/">B</a>, tomorrow your mails shall be replied to!), tomorrow I shall clean my cupboard, tomorrow I will finish reading an entire book, tomorrow I will go for a long walk (weather in Chennai is lovely), tomorrow I will go and treat myself to some chocolate ice cream, tomorrow I will watch &nbsp;"Through sunglasses", an Iranian movie which I have been meaning to watch for errr- 2 years now. (I should just get back to watching more world cinema.)<br />Though knowing me I know that I will probably just spend it correcting papers and making worksheets and entering data and crying at how my kids have STILL not mastered subtraction with borrow despite me drilling it for two months. Sighness!</div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-52989886818009984512012-07-18T20:15:00.001+05:302012-07-18T20:44:41.298+05:30And I am SO proud of myself..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">I would normally not write about something like this. Definitely not on my blog. And most definitely not when I am writing a post after two months.</span><br />But I have to say what I have to say.<br />So the last weekend saw me going to Madurai to meet my sister's edible and possibly the cutest twin babies on the planet, G and N. No cannibalistic tendencies but honestly they are SUCH cute kids that one just wants to stuff them between two slices of bread and have them for breakfast. Om nom nom.<br />Now that you are sufficiently disgusted let me continue.<br />As the trip to Madurai was about as efficiently planned as the errr... most unplanned trip to Madurai ever, I just went to Koyambedu and took one of the many buses leaving for Madurai<br />What follows is not something which is happening to me for the first time. It has happened to me before, has happened to ALL women/girls I know and very sadly will continue to happen till, well, we wipe men out from the planet. Which by the way is SUCH a good idea. Just freeze a couple of million good sperms (only if you want to that is. Because then we would have boy babies and after G was born I feel kindly towards boy babies so we can't really kill the boy babies you know. I would feel bad :P), wipe out the men and there you go - world peace, no strife, no hunger problems, no rape, no molestation, no dowry deaths, no need for contraception, no population explosion, no wet towels on the bed, no...<br />But I digress. More on this later.<br />So you might ask me why I choose to write about this particular incident when there have been so many.<br />Because I am proud of myself. So proud that I kicked a man in his balls in front of a bus full of men, who *might* be potential molestors themselves. Proud of the fact that there is now one man in Tamil Nadu who will DEFINITELY think twice before he even touches his own wife.<br />I shall not go into the gory details of what happened but in the middle of the night, I shouted at a bastard, swore at him in my most galeej tamil, poured a litre of water on his head, woke up everyone on the bus, confiscated his voter id card, kicked him in his balls...Thrice, made a co passenger slap him on his face, twice, and then waited till the bus reached the middle of nowhere, asked the bus to stop and made him get down.<br />I wish I had pepper spray. So I could have made his life more miserable but man! I am so proud of myself.<br />I also threatened to publish his photo is all the local newspapers that I know of and put it in public forums so people KNOW who he is. Which I have not been able to do. Because I don't know how to go about it. And also because if newspapers started carrying pictures of molestors, then well, there would ONLY be pictures of molestors in papers and little else.<br />So I shall share his picture and details here. And hope that the few good people who do visit this blog shall tell me how I can go about making his life miserable. Please give me really good ideas to make him regret his birth on this planet.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GizqpsIUSg0/UAbLG4fwgII/AAAAAAAAGY8/6IS9QCobpHc/s1600/IMG_0538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GizqpsIUSg0/UAbLG4fwgII/AAAAAAAAGY8/6IS9QCobpHc/s320/IMG_0538.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />P.S: So a funny thing happened. When I shouted at this man and asked him how he DARE put his loathsome &nbsp;effing hand on me, he replies saying "I am a decent man. I did my engineering"<br /><br /><laughs uprorariously=""></laughs></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-15220850664231772552012-04-12T15:30:00.001+05:302012-04-12T15:35:17.475+05:30Of crying babies, teaching and Mumbai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />1. So all the women I love and love talking to for hours on the phone are now busy taking care of small, wailing, peeing, pooping creatures and have no time to spend talking to me. So my sister (and hence my mother) and my best friend have been so busy taking care of little babies that they don't remember the last time they were devoid of baby vomit, baby poop and smelt like a woman. My sister went as far as giving birth to not one but TWO babies and the house is completely and constantly chaotic with constant baby squeals and gazillion diapers and thousands of bottles of formula and cute little baby clothes hanging on the clothes line. I miss not being at home in Jamnagar where the worlds best niece and nephew are growing up too fast for me to catch up and watching them grow on skype doesnt really cut it. And Milinta, my best friend, thankfully gave birth to only one but one super hyperactive boy who can sit still for exactly 4 seconds before indulging in some activity. In her own words, "Revs, he can crawl faster than me. I can't catch up with him anymore. Phew". Oh well. The day I have kids I will directly have 6 year olds and send them away to school.<br /><br />2. So till about a couple of months back (before the baby boom hit our family) the mater and pater were getting really worried and had come to the conclusion that I will remain a spinster for the rest of my life and possibly run away to Africa and start teaching young kids in Sudan or something. From coercion to pleading me to get married my parents were quite at their wits end. It also doesn't help that I work as a teacher (earning a pittance) in one of the worst slums of Mumbai (home to Chota Shakeel) and teach slum kids for a living. Most "prospective" alliances are rejected because I am not qualified enough or because I am a teacher or I don't earn enough or because I work for an NGO or the BEST - "if she works in a slum won't she contract some serious disease? Sorry. We don't want our son to get some terrible disease" HAHAHAHHAHAHAH! I think I laughed for three days continuously when I heard that!<br />Oh well. You need all kinds of people to make the world.<br /><br />3. Which brings me to my third rant of the day. I think it is very sad that parents want excellent teachers for their kids but they do NOT want their children to aspire to be excellent teachers. You can be an excellent doctor, engineer, pilot but God forbid if you became a teacher then your career and your life are fucked for eternity. Surprisingly though, in the slum I teach in, I am the MOST respected person. I get special seats in the auto, rowdies won't eve tease me, parents will wear their best clothes when they come to meet me because I am a "teacher". A well educated person who knows it all. But in the so called "upper and middle class" I am looked down upon so violently it is shocking. "A teacher," say most people with a sneer. Why? they want to know. As if I decided to sell my kidneys or indluge in slave trade to earn some money for myself. BUT they will be the first people to complain or take up arms if their child's teacher doesn't teach properly. Very sad state of affairs for a country if teachers aren't respected or paid well enough.<br /><br />4.So come June, I shall shift BACK to Chennai from Mumbai. I remember when I had to leave Chennai last year to come to Mumbai, I cried buckets and was extremely apprehensive about moving to a new city and that too to Mumbai, a purportedly hostile and tiring city. But now that I have to leave Mumbai to go finish my fellowship and teach in Chennai for an year, I feel hollow from within. I have come to love Mumbai and i LOVE the life this city exudes. This is possibly the only city which matches my pace and is as fast as I would like a city to be. I have had the most amazing time living in Mumbai, traveling in the city, teaching and interacting with the people in this city. Much as I like Chennai, I think the city is light years behind Mumbai in every sense. I don't want to romanticise Mumbai because no doubt it IS a difficult city and is a city of extremes with stark differences and contrasts in the living conditions of people of various incomes. But the city has been kind to me and for that I will be forever indebted.<br /><br />5. So the other day I was feeling really senti about leaving my kids in Mumbai and going to Chennai and I put up pictures of me with all my kids in Facebook, with a short note about each child. So I had put up a picture of me with the Math whiz kid in my class who can multiply faster in his head than I can do on paper. AND my favorite Math teacher comments on that and says the following. (Click image). This happened a week back but I am still floating on cloud nine. My rather flawed, fail and tumultuous life has come a full circle. :)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v3nOMNyrRGs/T4ao1C-4qZI/AAAAAAAAFG0/O9NPDKLfRgk/s1600/Wow!.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v3nOMNyrRGs/T4ao1C-4qZI/AAAAAAAAFG0/O9NPDKLfRgk/s320/Wow!.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-13931393336289724892012-03-19T14:25:00.005+05:302012-03-19T14:30:49.093+05:30And this is what teachers talk about a day before exams!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">So it has been a little crazy with the end of year exams and my upcoming trip to the US and shifting out of Mumbai and about a gazillion other things which I don't have the time to go into.<br />I have been more stressed about the exams than my kids who are pretty bindaas about it and call me a day before the exam to ask "Didi, tomorrow exam? why? what exam?" while I hyperventilate and hope not to die of a weak heart.<br />I find solace by putting up statuses on facebook about my kids and getting opinions from other teachers.<br />So yesterday I put up a status message about how I was super tensed about my kids' exams and following were the responses I got from other fellow teachers.<br />You might have to click on the picture to expand it and read it. I think it's worth it. :)<br />NOW I know what my teachers spoke about, a day before our exams while all the time as a student I thought that they were chilling and waiting for us to get massacred. Ah! Perspective! :)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WGiQ5Y_Xvbw/T2b1tUGtAKI/AAAAAAAAD3o/lkb6fmNU04Y/s1600/exam.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WGiQ5Y_Xvbw/T2b1tUGtAKI/AAAAAAAAD3o/lkb6fmNU04Y/s320/exam.JPG" width="102" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-11593666426211141222012-03-16T18:09:00.000+05:302012-03-16T18:09:07.394+05:30The true purpose of a country's existence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />You know how most people spend their entire lives finding the true purpose of their existence and spend a lot of time talking about it and wondering when they will find theirs?<br />I mean I know people who have lived to be a 65 and still wondering what is the purpose of THEIR existence on this planet.<br /><br />Well for the fact that it is a country, and a fairly young one at that, I think Bangladesh is DAMN lucky that just 41 years after its creation it has found the "true purpose of its existence".<br /><br />The true purpose of Bangladesh's existence is so that Sachin could one day score his 100th 100 in this country. :P<br /><br /><b>P.S:</b> I can't believe I have lived in a time when<br /><br />- I saw the passing of a millenium<br />- India won the world cup<br />- Sachin made 200 runs<br />- Sachin made 10,000 runs<br />- Sachin made his 100th 100<br /><br />I feel truly blessed.<br /></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-66963405191376639212012-03-14T23:26:00.001+05:302012-03-14T23:33:23.806+05:30and THIS is pretty much why I teach<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />So after school I usually take all my naughty kids and personally drop them off home to prevent them from getting into trouble and killing or maiming each other. The other day after dropping off two of them, Gaurav and I were walking hand in hand on the road, him humming <i>Chammak Chalo</i> and me smiling and feeling happy the way I usually do after school.<br />The best part about me and Gaurav is that no words need to be exchanged between us but we can still keep walking and turning around periodically to smile at each other. It is the best part of my day because Gaurav ALWAYS has a guilty smile which is the kind of smile kids give when they know they have done some mischief. He has this irrespective of whether he has been naughty or not.<br />So the other day while I was walking with Gaurav, I felt this sudden urgent tug on my hand.<br /><br /><b>Gaurav</b>: didiiii, didiiiii<br /><br /><b>Me</b>: What is it Gaurav?<br /><br /><b>Gaurav</b>: That truck ke peeche. Look<br /><br /><b>Me</b>: (puzzled): Yes?<br /><br /><b>Gaurav</b>: I can read what is written on it<br />(haltingly)<br /><i>Horn. Ok. Please</i><br /><br />"I can read everything now didiiiiii" (wide grin)<br /><br />It is moments like these that make ALL of it worth it.<br />The Mumbai rains, the Mumbai trains, the dirty slum, the lecherous men, the rotting garbage, the stuffy classroom, the long, tiring days, the sore throat.<br />Everything pales in comparison to this one moment when the world around him starts making sense for a child of mine who couldn't write his own name an year ago.<br /><br />This is why I teach.<br /><br />P.S: This was my 200th post :)<br /><br />P.P.S: This is my Gaurav.<br /><br />My bhai! Mumbhai ka bhai wearing my glasses! :)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W4H9m5xVoKA/T2DdV0KIfEI/AAAAAAAAD0k/H4aauxNvVmM/s1600/gau.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W4H9m5xVoKA/T2DdV0KIfEI/AAAAAAAAD0k/H4aauxNvVmM/s320/gau.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-11961534587871749582012-03-08T18:49:00.001+05:302012-03-08T18:50:56.072+05:30Hello there! :)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Hello!<br />(llo llo llo llo)<br />The -llo -llo -llo -llo my friends was the sound of my hello echoing off the empty walls of an abandoned/haunted house which is pretty much how GBCI has become.<br /><br />(laughs at own joke, realising she is the only one) <br /><br /><laughs at="" is="" joke,="" one="" only="" own="" realising="" she="" the=""></laughs><br />So it has ALMOST been two years since I stepped into this space. This, that was once my comfort zone, once the place i frequented the most, the place I liked most in the world. almost like a relationship. four year long relationship which I broke on a whim and which like all relationships do, took something out of me which I valued the most. My writing skills (if any existed)<br />I find it impossible now to write. About anything. And all that thinking about what to write wastes too much time. Time which I don't have.<br />So maybe I will start with what has happened these two years. I am sure all my two readers TOTALLY want to know where I have been up to so here goes.<br />So the last time you guys read GBCI, I was doing a course in journalism waiting to become the next Goenka asking people uncomfortable questions and making their lives miserable.<br />BUT I didnt. I mean I did try. So I joined the largest selling English daily in the world and worked for an year and then quit.<br />Quit to do what you might ask.<br /><br />"Get married?" &nbsp;<i>No</i><br />"Become a nuclear scientist?" &nbsp;<i>No</i><br />"Go back to software?" <i>Hell! No</i><br />"To do nothing. Err?" <i>Haha! No</i><br />"To study some more? Dear God!" <i>That was on the cards. But No!</i><br /><br />So I quit to become a school teacher.<br />Haha! What I would give to see the expression on your faces right now.<br />Like my dad says "You are going down the ladder of success. From software engineer to jounralism to teacher. What next? watchman?"<br />Yes. So now I teach fifth grade kids in a low income school in Mumbai. And this has to be the best job I have EVER taken up.<br />More in my next post about what it is that I do and an introduction to the best-est kids on the planet<br />So long then!</div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-46271250495212655552010-03-26T13:08:00.005+05:302010-03-31T01:14:43.623+05:30"Lessons" learnt in the past 9 months *giggle* *giggle*So the other day Meenaks (a very dear friend of mine and top blogger in Cognizant. Pity he doesn’t write externally!) asked me to write a guest post on his blog about my “learnings” from my course in journalism and media studies. My first reaction was to smirk sarcastically which if you know me is my first reaction to most things in life. Unlike most people who believe that every phase in life is a learning opportunity from which you have to take important lessons, I believe that every phase in life is basically a mistake which you could have avoided but then since you didn’t have the good sense to do so you might as well enjoy the mistake, make the most of it and not make it again in life. (Think about it. Birth, Class 10, Class 12, college etc. All mistakes which most people don’t make more than once! :P) Yeah. The Eternal Optimist. That’s me! :P<br /><br />So what you are about to read is not profound, philosophical jargon about how my course in media studies has changed me as a person and made me the pride of my parents and envy of all others’ but its basically a list of things I have observed in and around me in the past one year. Meenaks, I am sure it hurts your IIM-Bangalore sensibilties and the fact that I haven't used words which have more than 7 alphabets and in your own words (I could never come up with management jargons like tat) I hope the post is "harmonious to the stakeholder expectations". :P<br /><br />So this was my comeback post on ch1 (the internal blogging site in Cognizant). Come back. Yes! Pretty much like the Bollywood heroine who gets married, has children, puts on 20 kgs of weight and then makes a comeback as second sister of hero’s friend. Ummm. Wrong analogy there for neither was I a Bollywood heroine (I had the looks though. I can assure you of that!! People who knew me shaduupp!! Ok? :P) nor did I get married and have children. But anyway a comeback this is. (Oh BTW, I tend to ramble a lot. So plizz to bear ok? Ok! )<br /><br />So following are vairy vairy important lessons which you must incorporate in your life otherwise Swami Nithyanada will curse you with a life of celibacy. Oh by the way these are totally my views and there might be a lot of stereotypes in here so please don’t come after me with bazookas you media students! I am one of you guys! :P<br /><br /><strong>1.</strong> “You have to cut the umbilical cord.”<br />This was what I heard first from a professor when I joined the course. With my knowledge of cryptic writing limited to Aravind’s posts (:P), when I heard this I remember wondering that if a person did not know the simple biological process that only cutting the umbilical cord would free the baby from the mother, the person probably did not deserve to be a professor at a prestigious institute. Apparently it was a metaphor (or a figure of speech or an allegory or whatever . :-\) which meant that I should distance myself and cut myself away from everything if I wanted to be a good journalist. Not be bogged down by petty issues like my caste, my gender, my religion, my family ties and such identities and have no fear. This was probably the biggest lesson I learnt here though I am not sure if I have reached a stage where I can mercilessly cut the umbilical cord (the figurative one).<br /><br /><strong>2.</strong> Media students have enough opinions for you, me and people from 6 of the 7 continents in this world. No exaggeration. We (I say we because whether I like it or not I am now a part of “them”) have opinions on everything ranging from “Is the hilsa a better fish than karuvaadu and can south Indians cook fish as well as Bengalis can do” to “Is secularism a failed ideology in a country like India” to “Is godhaan garam a better brand of cigarettes than india kings” to “are feminists ugly women who cant get dates or do they really support a cause”, we have opinions on every frikkin’ thing on this planet. Who was it who said “Opinions are like smelly feet. Everyone has a couple and most of them stink”. So true Sir, so true.<br /><br /><br /><strong>3.</strong> When you hear words like “the existentialist dilemma”, “orientalisation of one self”, “challenging the hermeneutics”, “return and revenge of the simulacrum”, you can be sure that you are in a media school. We love big words. We love to make people think that we actually know more than them by using big words. We love to flummox people by pretending to understand what Pranab Mukherjee is talking about when he presents the budget. We love to declare that we read Marx, Foucault, Sartre, Pablo Neruda, Tolstoy, Simone de Beauvoir and we love to wear T shirts which say “Che Guevara”.<br /><br /><br /><strong>4.</strong> People actually respect engineers. No seriously. One big lesson that I have learnt is the fact that though engineers do not respect themselves enough, when you tell a non-engineer that you are an engineer you can see visible dilation of their pupils and visible arching of eyebrows and an audible “Oh!! fancy. So what engineer were you”. After which you would proceed to explain in detail about computer science and engineering and throw in words like “java”, “struts”, “application”, “develop”, “test case” etc and throw them off guard. AFTER which they would say things like “Umm. Actually my computer has been acting up for some time. Could you please take a look at it?” and throw YOU off guard. I mean seriously what is it with people who think that just because we are engineers we can fix everything?<br /><br /><br /><strong>5.</strong> Media students more often than not drink and smoke, and smoking not necessarily restricted to tobacco if you know what I mean. So do people of every profession but while the rest of the world smokes because they are addicted or to relieve pressure or for whatever reason, we apparently smoke to “challenge our intellectual limits”. Yes sir. When you are on a high apparently your thoughts go from thinking about “Does Gabten/Govinda look more revolting in yellow color pants or when he is wildly shaking his arms and legs and calling it dance” to “Does God exist?”, “ When will revolution come and relieve us from this imaginary bondage” etc etc. Another important lesson learnt is that you can’t die when you stay in the same room as someone who is smoking and I have mastered the art of holding my breath and having a conversation.<br /><br /><br /><strong>6.</strong> Joining a course offering journalism because you love writing is probably the biggest mistake you can make. If anything, it kills the little bit of creativity and panache in yout writing and makes your writing all newsy and crisp. So basically from writing about your trysts with dentists to your smelly feet and generally laughing at the idiosyncrasies of the world you go to writing about potholes in 12th cross street Indira Nagar and writing stuff like “12 killed and 15 injured as train derails”. And then you sit and edit what you have written because obviously the newspaper is not your blog and when they say 500 words they actually mean 498 and 2 words to fit in your names. So right from day one you are told to write crisp, precise to the point stuff. Not at all helpful for a person like me who is like a 84 year old grandma in this sense and loves to ramble on and on. (As you might already have noticed. :roll:)<br /><br /><br /><strong>7.</strong> Maybe this is too extreme but personally I think a course in media studies completely changes the way you look at life and your perspective. You no longer look at a paper in the morning with the same indifferent eye with which you look at a packet of milk. You no longer read articles for the news content which they offer but you become critical. Too long, too short, improper headlines, too many adjectives, biased, grammatical errors and so on and so forth. Same with the TV news channels and radio bulletins. Something suddenly changes and you read a bad article and go “Gasp!! I would never write like that. What lousy writing” though something tells me out in the real world maybe I will also end up writing such stories! And suddenly everything around you, wherever you go, whatever you do, is a story which needs to be told and written about!<br /><br /><br /><strong>8.</strong> A course in media studies puts ideas into your head and kind of nudges you to develop an “ideology” for life. So all of a sudden you think being an environmentalist is cool, being a feminist is cool and capitalism is the bane of mankind and that the Amabanis and Tatas and Birlas and ALL their obscene wealth should be wiped out from the face of this planet without actually understanding the principles of feminism, capitalism etc. If you are not careful enough you could end up carrying a red flag, shouting Jyoti Basu’s name and giving a “Lal Salaam” to people on the streets if you know what I mean! ;)<br /><br /><br /><strong>9.</strong> Your GK and world view improve vastly and you get to read a lot. And when I say read I do not mean books by Chetan Bhagat or books which are titled “Anything for you Ma’am” or “True Love” etc but books which actually make you sit up and think. Don’t get me wrong. I am not being an elitist or a bourgeoisie here. I am very grateful to Chetan Bhagat for making so many Indians read and inculcating the reading habit in so many people. But let’s face it. If you love reading and Bhagat’s was not the first book you read you would agree that his books are not what you would call good literature or informative or thought provoking. His books are best read when you are on a train and have 4 hours to kill and don’t know what to do.<br /><br />Anyway I digress. Where was I? Yeah, reading habit. I remember in my first few classes the professor asked a question about the Emergency and none of us could answer it. So he sighed, took off his spectacles and went “The problem with your generation is that most of you think history began after you were born”. Very true that. A course in journalism makes you curious, makes you want to read and you realize what a LOT of books there are out there to read and you feel painfully unaccomplished and stupid when you realize how little you actually know about India, let alone the world.<br /><br /><br /><strong>10.</strong> I have developed a love for non-fiction which is rather surprising given I disliked the genre an year back and my ideas of non fiction were pretty much what most people’s idea of feminists or what constitutes feminism is. Having spoken to a lot of people I get the same reactions from them (about reading non-fiction, not about feminism! :P)<br /><br />As of now these are the only pearls of wisdom that I can think of showering on you. A lot of other lessons have also been learnt but they are personal and obviously you don’t want to know about that. As I already said follow these and you will be rewarded with a life as rich and “fulfilling” as Swami Nithyananda’s. Babes, Booze, Bhashan (speech), “Beatitude”, Bhaktas and of course the Big bucks. Seriously. What more could one want from life.<br /><br />Yes, the absence of TV cameras in bedrooms and earth shattering TV commentary like “Nadigai churidhar pottundu avar arigil vandhaar” would be helpful but then you can’t have everything in life can you?<br /><br />Anyway, So I leave you now with hope and prayers that one day you will incorporate the rich lessons this place has taught you and become better, brighter more responsible human beings and will make this world a better place to live in. And always remember that whenever you point finger at others, there are three fingers pointing back at you and one finger pointing up to God (the thumb) . Go out into the world and achieve great heights my children.<br /><br />Heh. Just kidding. The above are actually quotes stolen from my high school principal who would say the exact SAME thing year after year after year at student farewells. I always wanted to say it once in my lifetime especially the finger pointing dialogue! Finally got an opportunity! Thanks Meenaks!Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-75204696826634678172010-03-21T17:25:00.005+05:302010-03-22T01:16:17.510+05:30Arbit1. The maami of the 90s, at social gatherings used to talk about sarees and where they were bought and whether the wards of XYZ had married or not and other equally mind numbing things. The new age maami talks about facebook, writes on the walls of nieces and nephews, shouts "i love you sweetuu" and "lovingly" uploads embarassing photos from one's childhood which are talked about in great detail at social gatherings. I am not sure which maami i prefer! <br /><br />2. Right when I am about to graduate from J-school and become a journalist, I hear about <a href="http://bit.ly/8Hbust">THIS</a> and <a href="http://bit.ly/5mcy4I">THIS</a><br />This is what I call divine intervention. Captain oops Gabten TV is my future now. To work with Gabten Vijaykanth. Wow! Now i know what reason I will give when people ask me why I chose to do journalism after having done engineering. <br /><br />3. Being a disbeliever or rather, being agnostic I do not understand the concept behind shrardham or the fact that our ancestors have become crows and hence we must feed the crows to please them. I do not understand why we must waste perfectly good rice, paruppu, nei, vazhekka curry and feed about 2 kilos of above mentioned stuff to the crows. Don't get me wrong. I love crows. I find them more appealing than most human beings. I just think that giving 2 kilos of rice to hungry street children on the occassion of your loved one's death anniversary is probably a better way of remembering them than feeding crows. Having read his diaries and having heard stories about the way he lived his life, something tells me that S.R thatha would have been infinitely happy if we did not waste the food on crows and used it for something more worthwhile.<br />But year after year I go to Madhya Kailash for each thatha's death anniversary, watch the kurukal do the puja, watch them gloriously mispronounce our names (and even the mantras i daresay :P), get scolded by the kurukkal for sitting cross legged on the chair (its impolite for a girl to do so), docilely watch as mounds and mounds of rice is stacked away for the crows, crowned with ghee and paruppu and then sit and eat the food which only I, being the grandchild can eat and come back home. I do this because I know it makes paati happy and since I am the only grandchild or rather the only one in the "lineage" who is in India and Chennai I go and eat because apparently by doing so I am giving shanthi to the aatma of my thathas and also earning much needed punyam for me. I cannot help being sarcastic but honestly if God did exist I think he should be worried more about the shanthi of his children who are alive than the shanthi of the souls of the dead. <br />Ah well but thats just me! <br /><br />4. To expect the world to be uncomplicated and your life to be as smooth as a baby's bottom is like expecting Mayawati to use taxpayers' money for the betterment of Uttar Pradesh and not use it to make garlands for herself. Aint gonna happen ever. Might as well get used to the fact that life is complicated, people are very very complicated and only the age old Indian mantra will help you. "Thoda adjust kar lo". <br /><br />5. Reading a book about M.S.Subbulakshmi (A Life in Music by T.J.S.George) I realise what a LOT that woman has been through. What we see is only the singer but to read about the person behind that voice was very very inspiring. Marrying a man who was 14 years her senior, not able to marry the man she loved, giving music precedence over everything else in her life, bringing her husband's children from his previous marriage like her own children and not having children of her own, hers is a story which is worth reading according to me. Moved me somehow. <br /><br />6. NOW, when the academic year is almost coming to an end the college library decides to stock up and the library now has rows and rows of actually interesting books and fiction at that. Our college library which was never known for its collection of fiction now has lots of good fiction books which alas we will never be able to read! I cant wait to start earning (AGAIN) so i can go on a book shopping spree and buy all the books on my ever growing list of books to buy which i have prepared in the past year. <br /><br />7. Watched the movie October Sky and after a long time shed tears for a movie (So thats a book AND a movie which have moved me in a week. Yayy. Here's to more such fulfilling weeks!). Loved the subtle way in which the father son relationship is handled in the movie (reminded me of the HORRIFIC "daddy daddy" way in which the same was handled in <a href="http://revsrules.blogspot.com/2008/11/vaaranam-aayiram-should-be-renames-to.html">Vaaranam Aayiram</a>), loved the dialogues, especially the one in the end where Homer tells his dad who his real hero is, loved the southern accent, loved the way some of the scenes have been shot and loved the story. It is the true story of Homer Hickam and is a remake of the book Rocket Boys (which is an anagram of October Sky) written by Hickam. Any more suggestions for good movies?<br /><br />8. The song "Iktara" from the movie Wake up Sid is what continuously runs on my ipod these days. I love the song. Its almost as if the song writer looked at me, observed my life and decided to pen the song. Beautiful words. <br /><br />O re manwa tu to bawra hai<br />Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai<br />Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai <br />Baware<br />Kyun dikhaye sapne tu sote jaagte<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />Kaise main chaloon <br />Dekh na sakoon<br />Anjaane raaste<br /><br />So true! :)Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-25060435601306690912010-03-09T14:16:00.004+05:302010-03-10T12:03:08.130+05:30A love ahead of time - II - Plizz to bear with me! :PSo about an year and a half back i had written a short "love" story. (Read it <a href="http://revsrules.blogspot.com/2008/10/love-ahead-of-time.html">HERE</a>) Yeah, I know the probability of me writing a love story is same as the probability of RJD and SP coming out in support of Women's bill but I wanted to write the story from Narayan's perspective (many people also suggested I do) and I had written it but not published it. Found the document lying deep in the recesses of my C: drive so thought it was time to subject you to another one of my hopeless love stories! :P<br />So here goes! A love ahead of time - Part II! :P<br /><br />Please do let me know what you think of it. Honestly! So if you don't like it please say so.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Narayan took his spectacles off to wipe them, cursing Pittsburgh’s weather under his breath, quickening his pace. Damn the frost which frosted his spectacles blurring his vision. Damn the cold which found its way to each and every crevice and bone in his body making him shiver. Narayan was walking with Shyam from the university to his quarters inside the campus. Fall had just gotten over and winter was setting in. The landscape was beautiful and all the trees had shed their leaves leaving a lovely carpet of red yellow and orange leaves on the ground. The students enjoyed this season. Every bench on campus was occupied with couples holding hands, whispering and giggling with the soft glow of love evident on their faces.<br /><br />“Bloody hell. Defiling every inch of the campus by sitting and doing all kinds of nonsense on the benches. Love it seems. Bah!!” Shyam growled. “There should be a rule against this”. <br /><br />“They are just students Shyam. This is the age to fall in love. You wouldn’t understand. You have obviously never been in love” said Narayan with a soft smile<br /><br />“hah!! Like you have a lot of experience Narayan. You aren’t even married”<br /><br />Narayan smiled. If only Shyam knew. Married with a wife and 2 kids for 26 years Shyam had seen less love that Narayan had in one year with Lakshmi!! That one wonderful year of his life<br /><br />Lakshmi. Involuntarily he smiled at her memory. <br /><br />The first time he saw her she was singing some Bhajan for the Golu at their house. He hated these customs. The Golu, the ladies visiting their house for Golu, all that money which amma and appa spent to do the various archanai’s at all the temples in trichy, the money they spent on feeding all the greedy kurukkals who came to do the “pithru kaaryam”. Narayan was sure Thatha would have been infinitely happy if appa had used all that money to feed the poor people in Trichy than spend it on these kurukkals for his devasam. It was ironical. The more he questioned these customs the more number of archanais amma did asking god to give her son “nalla buddhi” or good sense. Narayan was 22 years old. Angry, confused and agnostic he spent most of the time in the public library reading books on theology, sociology, anything he could lay his hands on and trying to find answers to his never ending questions and when at home he spent his time reading his thatha’s books. Leo Tolstoy, George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, poems of Edgar Allan Poe and Pablo Neruda. He found solace in their writings. <br /><br />He had a bachelors degree in Mathematics and with Appa’s influence he could have gotten a respectable job as a professor in Holy Cross trichy. But the rebel that he was, he had chosen to sit at home and read, discover himself and then go on to get settled in life. How he wished he had taken up that job. How he wished he had been well settled when he met Lakshmi. If only… if only..<br /><br />He would never forget that day. The first time he touched her. It was pouring. As usual he had had a fight with appa and had picked up his umbrella and left home in a huff to walk to the library to spend some quality time reading. He was walking on the pavement when he suddenly saw someone walking right in the middle of the road and a car’s headlights flashing close behind. He realized that if he didn’t intervene the person would be hit. He reached out to the person’s arm and pulled her to safety even as the car whizzed by and it was Lakshmi. Those big beautiful kohl rimmed eyes staring at her with a gamut of emotions ranging from fear to apprehension to relief to confusion playing in them. <br /><br />Are you crazy?” he shouted at her as soon as he found his voice<br /><br />She turned around and started blubbering “Th…Thanks. I..I..didnt hear the car. It was raining and…”. <br /><br />He had offered her his umbrella, still holding her arm and she had pushed it away determinedly preferring to go by bus and he had offered to wait with her.<br />In the past 30 years he had replayed that scene in his mind a 100 times, playing the hopeless what if game<br /><br />What if he had just said “ok” and left her. She would never have come into his life then. He would have carried on with life, married someone his parents had chosen for him and been one of those innumerable human beings on earth untouched by the power of love. <br /><br />But it was not to be. He had chosen to wait with her at the bus stand. Why? That was a question he couldn’t answer. Maybe he was bored, maybe it was hormones, maybe he had a foreboding that they were meant to fall in love or maybe he just wanted someone to talk to.<br /><br />That day at the bus stop it was appa who had come and disturbed the perfect moment that he had shared with her. It was amazing how appa had spoilt some of the things he valued the most in life. That perfect moment with Lakshmi, his future,his life with Lakshmi…<br /><br />“Narayan” shyam’s voice pierced his reverie. “Where are you going? We have reached our apartment”<br /><br />Narayan entered his apartment glad to be alone with his thoughts and reveled in the warmth which it provided. How he missed the warm Trichy weather. He removed the layers of clothes on top of him, the gloves, the cap, his shoes and changed into a cotton shirt and veshti – his only connection with Trichy. He switched on the coffee maker and grimaced at the black color liquid it spewed forth. Black decaf, these Americans called it. What was coffee without a generous dose of fresh milk, prepared with fresh decoction, two spoons of sugar and shaken till the froth formed? He settled down with the coffee and his thoughts switched back to Lakshmi<br />That one wonderful year of his life. <br /><br />When had he fallen in love with her? He couldn’t really say. Maybe it was that first sarcastic reply of hers. He was a very judgmental person and had thought of her as just another air head who went to college just so that she could put “B.Sc graduate” on her “marriage” resume. He was wrong. She was intelligent, innocent and willing to learn which was an endearing combination. He remembered how he would wait for her to come to the bus stand after college and would keep peeping out of the window in the library to see if she had come. Those endless conversations which he had with her, those long walks home, the smell of jasmine in her hair, and mysore sandal soap on her self, the tinkle of her anklets and bangles, the sound of her deep laughter, her intelligence, her inquisitiveness, the expression of wonder on her face when she spoke of the authors whose books he loaned her…. These were some images and sounds which had become ingrained in his memory. She was everything that he ever wanted in a woman. He always thought she was his and they were meant to be. <br /> <br />That day when she had told him that they had started groom hunting for her, THAT was the first day when fear had crept into him that she might not be his and he would have to do something if he didn’t want to lose her. He had proposed marriage and the happy tears in her eyes had been answer enough.<br /><br />The same day he had broken the news at home. Amma had started crying and Appa with a melancholy expression on his face had asked him a question which had sealed Narayan’s fate because he didn’t have an answer. “If you were the father of a daughter would you assent to give her hand in marriage to a person like yourself who doesn’t earn and doesn’t seem to make any efforts at doing so?”<br /><br />He had just assumed that Appa and Amma would agree because of the friendship between them and Lakshmi’s parents. He had been terribly mistaken. Appa hadn’t even allowed him to explain things to Lakshmi. He guessed that things at Lakshmi’s end were even worse because no communication came from that side too. He had sent her a letter explaining how things were and why they couldn’t get married because of society’s silly constraints. He never got a reply. She must have had a very low opinion of him.<br /><br />Within a week, news of her marriage came. He had wanted to attend but Appa wouldn’t hear of it. To prevent him from doing anything brash they had gone to Coimbatore for a week to Perima’s place. By the time he came back the one person in the entire city who he cared for no longer existed. He had heard she was in Madras now married to a successful bank officer. She never came to Trichy after that and 2 years later appa had gotten a transfer to Madurai and they had moved. He finished his Post graduation in Coimbatore, finished his MS and Phd and had moved to Pittsburgh – unable to forget her. He had chosen to remain a bachelor. He didn’t think he was capable of loving anyone as much as he had loved Lakshmi. Amma had tried everything to convince him but he was determined. If it wasn’t Lakshmi it wasn’t anyone.<br /><br />He drained his mug off the last few drops of the bitter liquid and stood for a long time at the window watching the falling leaves and the beautiful campus and thinking about Lakshmi and his fate. <br /><br />Fate, thought Narayan was a cruel thing. It makes you meet and fall in love with a person who in ur heart of hearts u know can never be yours and yet in a strange inexplicable rather stupid way instead of wishing that u had never met them, you feel glad that they were a part of your life.<br /><br />It had been 20 years since he had moved to Pittsburgh and yet he hadn’t gotten used to the country but he hadn’t wanted to go back to India. He had cherished the anonymity and freedom which this country had given him. That combined with the fact that Pittsburgh wasn’t swarming with “well wishers” wanting to get him married. <br />But now at the age of 52 he doubted if anyone would try to get him married. <br /><br />It was time to go home. Time to go back to Trichy. Time again to spend the rest of his life as a bachelor, sitting at the public library and trying to answer elusive questions.<br /><br />Life, had come a full circle.Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-44792107723717365552010-02-19T15:17:00.002+05:302010-02-19T15:22:41.021+05:30Of Gunda, Papi Gudia, Behne and the rest<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">So yesterday, I was sitting and watching <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papi_Gudia">Paapi Gudiya</a> at 1 in the night on Star Gold with a bunch of friends in the TV hall. A completely kvlt movie starring Karishma Kapoor in the 1996. You know the kind of Karishma Kapoor I am talking about. Red lipstick, fake eyelashes, jhataak clothes and a childish voice which makes you contemplate if strangling is a better idea to kill yourself or slashing your wrists. In fact, I have it from very reliable sources that ideas in the Inglees movie, Child’s play have been shamelessly lifted from the very original Paapi Gudiya. The beginning of the movie has Karishma Kapoor dressed like Amitabh Bacchan when he sang “Saara zamaana haseenon ka deewana” complete with the black dress with bulbs on it and gyrating on stage, in the middle of overweight middle aged men singing “I love the beat in Muuuuusic, I love the heat in Muuuusic”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Lately I have been watching a lot of these kinds of movies mainly because I seem to have ample company in hostel to watch movies like Papi gudia, khoon bhari maang, Gundaa etc. Star Gold very thoughtfully telecasts these movies at 1 in the night when all of us are wide awake and have nothing much to do except giggle and laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Anyway, I realize that dialogue writers these days just don’t have the kind of creativity which the dialogue writers in the 90s possessed. For eg: Sample the following<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">1.<span style="font:7.0pt &quot;Times New Roman&quot;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;color:black">In paapi gudia there is a scene where the child (Karishma Kapoor’s brother - a kid who I think must have been ragged mercilessly in school for speaking such dialogues and must have faced severe emotional trauma later in life) wants to buy a doll, actually THE doll – the doll which is possessed with the “aatma” of the killer and he goes “mujhe yehi gudiya chahiye, mujhe yehi gudiya chahiye” and Karisma Kapoor goes “Bilkul ladki hai tu. Gudiya ke saath to sirf ladkiyan khelti hai” and the boy says<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height: 115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;color:black">“Arey didi. Aisi gudiya ke saath to ladkiyan hi nahi balki ladke bhi khel sakte hai”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">:D :D<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Woww!! What innuendos, what excellent double entendres even in that day and age.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just think. When was the last time you heard such excellent stuff in Hindi cinema?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black"><br /></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">2.<span style="font:7.0pt &quot;Times New Roman&quot;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;color:black">Which brings us to some EPIC dialogues from the movie <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gunda_(film)">Gunda</a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Each villain in Gunda has a kvlt tagline. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">The main guy is called Bhulla and his tagline is “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Mera naam hai Bhulla, mai rakhta hoon Khulla”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">His sidekick is this guy called Ibu Hatela whose tagline is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">“Mera naam hai Ibu hatela, maa meri chudail aur baap mera shaitaan ka chela”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">And so on and so forth. You get the drift don’t you? So the entire movie is peppered with such dialogues.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Picture this. The sister of the Bhulla is raped by another villain called “Lambu” who unfortunately doesn’t have a tagline (if I were to give Lambu a tagline I would say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">“Mera naam hai Lambu, yen kitta vechukadhe Vambu</i>” or “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Mera naam hai Lambu, maa meri savitha bhabhi aur baap mera shikari shambu</i>” :P)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Anyway so this girl, Munni, is raped and she is lying dead in the middle of the road. Along comes Bhulla and this is what he says when he sees the body of his sister.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height: 115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;color:black">“Munni meri behen Munni, Lambu ne tujhe Lamba kar diya? Maachis ki teeli ko khambha kar diya?” <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">:D :D<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">So effectively a scene which is supposed to be a very poignant and heart rendering one turns out to be laugh riot. The unintended (or maybe intended who knows) comedy of the movies in the 90s has been unmatched till date. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">I digress. The main reason for this post was actually a very serious thought that while Hindi cinema has matured over the decade (and you thankfully don’t have many movies like Gundaa coming up), how Hindi soaps continue to deteriorate at an alarming rate.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Now while watching Papi Gudiya, the thrilling plot, edge of the seat drama and intense dialogue was interrupted in between by commercials of the various Hindi soaps and one of them was this serial called “Behne” where the only aim of the four sisters in life is to get married, be subservient to the husband, have children and take care of their in laws and if they manage to do all the above they would have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">roshan karofied</i> the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">naam</i> of their parents. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">So there is this one particular episode where one of the sisters is pregnant and the father (I *think*) kicks the bucket. So the other “behens” decide not to tell the pregnant behen of the death of their father thinking it would devastate her and she would lose the baby. The vamp of the serial over hears this and sends the pregnant girl green bangles wrapped in the newspaper cutting of her fathers death (suggesting that the only way the girl would read newspapers is when they come wrapped in bangles or pakoda or jalebi or something) and the commercial stops with the pregnant woman opening the “gift”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">I gathered all this from a 50 second commercial of the soap.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Having grown up watching serials like Tara, Shanthi, Buniyaad, Zamaana Badal Gaya, <span class="apple-style-span">Zaban Sambhalke, Waghle ki Hasin Duniya, Hasratein</span> and Banegi Apni Baat which portrayed women as progressive, independent, self sufficient individuals, I am shocked by the current trend where girls in the age group of 12-20 are subjected to such colossal crap and probably grow up thinking this is the way to be. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">That it is perfectly ok to be ill treated by your husband and in laws, perfectly normal to bitch about your sister in law, perfectly sane behavior to sleep at night wearing full make up and georgette and chiffon sarees. None of the women in the ‘K’ serials work, they are never shown as reading the newspaper, they are always shown cooking for men in the kitchen while the men have “intelligent” discussions in the drawing room. One of the serials I remember even had the protagonist’s mother telling her before marriage, “Beta, ek ladki ki jagah uske pati ke charnon ke paas hoti hai. Pati se zyaada tarakki karne ki koshish mat karma. Tum hi pachtaoge” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Pleeeease!! This is the 21<sup>st</sup> century for christs sake!! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Soaps in my time had women, who stood for what they believed in, did not need men to define their identities, portrayed normal housewives (who weren’t caked in make up with half baked brains) fighting for social causes and not fighting for saasu ma ka pyaar. I find it VASTLY surprising that writers 15 years back had so much of foresight and were so broad minded while the Ekta Kapoors of today trivialize important issues and magnify useless things. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">Sighhh.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">I think its high time Indian soaps got better writers or someone, 15 years down the line will write similar posts about Indian soaps the way I now write about movies like Gunda and Papi Gudia. At least Gunda and Papi Gudia were a phase of Hindi movies that we have outgrown. Thank God we don’t think that Govinda is the best dancer or that Mithun da is the best actor. Its part of a normal growth curve but this continuous deterioration in the quality of Hindi soaps is depressing. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">I think I need to watch Sabse Bada Khiladi or Coolie No.1 to cheer myself up now.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="ListParagraph" style="tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; color:black">So long. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-66025200326806473512010-01-30T21:57:00.004+05:302010-02-01T22:42:00.663+05:30Duniya hi saali khilaaf sasuri!! :PSo I am happily singing 'Beedi Jalai le' and bounding up the stairs of the hostel after a particulary distasteful meal of sticky noodles, stone hard peas masala and chapati. I am on a high. One of those highs which have no explanation, you know. Where you just feel light and are in a "singy" mood.<div><br /><div>I take two steps at a time and I reach my floor. I turn sharply to find assorted men's underwear hanging on the railing of the steps. I am shocked and i stare uncouthly for a minute. I am in NO way interested in men's underwear. Its just that I find it rather strange to find men's underwear hanging on a floor which is a floor full of girls. I think "Jeeez. do these boys have no shame? Coming to the girls' floor and hanging their dirty..err..clean linen? eeeeks". I dismiss it as a sudden burst of insanity and walk towards my room still LOUDLY singing "Beedi Jalai le". I am at the part where Bipasha goes "jigar ma lagi aag..dhan te nan na na dhan te nan" and i sing particularly loudly and even break into a little jig. </div><div><br /></div><div>I reach my room at the end of the corridor, put my key into the keyhole to open the door but strangely the door is open. I am surprised. I could have sworn my roommates left for Pondy. Oh well. Maybe they are back. I open the door with a flourish singing "Thandi hawa bhi khilaaf sasooriiiiiii" and I see three boys in various states of undress doing ermm.. various things totally and absolutely taken aback at this sudden female intervention and that too one which is singing a rather tapori song rather loudly and one which does not have the habit of knocking on doors.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dense and absolutely brainless that I am I stare at them and go "Eh?" </div><div><br /></div><div>My hand flies to my mouth as i realise my mistake and I swear rather loudly and use a word which i reserve for special occasions where I am in deep shit.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am in the third floor standing in front of room 305 while my room is on the second floor and my room number is 205. Third floor is the "boys" floor.</div><div><br /></div><div>I open and close my mouth not unlike a goldfish, almost as if I am waiting for them to apologise and vacate the room.</div><div><br /></div><div>I then mumble a sorry and turn around to see another boy in the corridor grinning condescendingly at me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I run like my pants are on fire and in an instant I am in my room on the bed aghast at what I have done</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>How could I have not noticed I was on the third floor?</div><div>How could I not see the big and bold "305" on the door?</div><div>How could I not miss the Garfield poster on my room's door?</div><div>How could I not miss the giggling of the girls and the general girlish smell of the corridor?</div><div>How could I not sense that it was the boys' dirty floor?</div><div><br /></div><div>Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!! </div></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-58079497347631216202010-01-11T12:50:00.000+05:302010-01-11T12:53:07.814+05:30Hmmm..Aaaarrghhh!!<div>Another year goes by, a decade just went by, its been four years now since this blog was started and I am 24. 24 is not a very nice age to be. For one you are terribly confused (its a different thing that i am always terribly confused but 24 is particularly confusing). You have no idea about the future. You are not sure you want what you are getting and you are not sure about getting what you want. You are apprehensive as hell because all of a sudden you are being pushed into adulthood. You have conversations with friends which you would never have dreamt of having three years back. Your priorities are being forced to change and suddenly you realize that the whooshing sound you hear is time just flying past you. You attend your college's alumni meet and you realise you are old and there are scores of juniors who you dont recognize, calling you akka and you want to sit and cry and come running back to college where your maximum worry was how to handle project reviews.</div><div><br /></div><div>There were a certain set of ideals you had always lived by. Ideals which you built by reading loads and loads of books and watching movies. Suddenly you wish you could just throw all those books out of the window and burn them. You wish you were illiterate or had spent all these years reading mills and boon and danielle steele. At least that would have prepared you for certain things which Ayn Rand does NOT. You read Ayn Rand and you think you can conquer the world and suddenly all that comes crashing around you when you realise how perfectly ordinary you are and what a boringly normal course your life is taking. You reach that point in life where reality strikes you and you realise that the ideal world exists only in books and movies. Its almost like the child who realizes that santa clause doesnt exist or that spiderman is all animation and there is not really a man who can spin webs by just folding his fingers and pointing it at you. </div><div><br /></div><div>You read books and fantasize a world where everything is exactly the way you want to be. You are Dominique Francon a minute and Howard Roark the other. You are Galahad and Jeeves. Hercule Poirot and Jane Marple. Tintin and Asterix. Julian and Fatty. You are the strong character helping everyone and the one who everyone turns to. None of your favorite characters had ordinary lives and you grow up thinking its a sin to have an ordinary life. You build a world around those characters. And that world comes crashing down and you realise that its all make believe and what a weak and loser-ish person you really are in real life. Forget making the world happy, you cant even make the ones close to you happy. You are torn by your ideals (stupid as they are) and the real world (real, loving and caring as it is). A part of you knows that the latter is permanent and safe and which is what will make you happy if not now, then 10 years down the line and yet another part of you wants to break free. "Who wants safe? Safe is for wimps. Go out there are fly. So what if you will regret it 10 years later. At least you would have tried" that part says and your life now is a constant struggle between those two parts of your self. All your attempts to merge them fail and its almost like suffering from multiple personality disorder.</div><div><br /></div><div>You suddenly wish time would fly faster, either forward or backward, as long as you dont have to face this stage in your life where simple decisions seem herculean. You dont want to be 24. 17 was nice. 31 will definitely be nice. But 24 is sad. And worse still is when you look around and you see people handling 24 gracefully and you wonder "How the hell do they do it man?". You see people who are 24 getting married and having children and you want to run and hide under a rock out of shame. You cant blame god because you are agnostic. You cant blame your parents and siblings because they are sane and sensible people, mature and composed when they were 24. You cant blame your friends because most of them are married or at least they know want they want when they turn 25. You cant blame your stars because you are skeptical about astrology. Its just you.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh my God. Am i suffering from quarter life crisis an year before i become a quarter century old? Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrghh!!! </div><div><br /></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-78753139373025701092009-12-30T17:46:00.004+05:302009-12-30T17:59:36.306+05:30Idiots par excellence!Whenever I go to sangeetha (a famous chain of restaurants here in Chennai) I invariably always order the ghee roast or one of their other dosas. Not because they have the best dosas in the world but because their dosas are closest to what amma makes. So every time I feel homesick I go to sangeetha for the aathu saapadu experience. Despite the flaws the dosa has I like it because I feel close to home.<br /><br />I would say the same of 3 idiots. It may not be the best movie made, it may not be flawless, the story in parts may have a lot of holes, but it took me back to the four best years of my life. 4 years of engineering. Every scene, almost every character was something I could instantly relate to.<br /><br />In the first scene when megabyte and kilobyte are introduced it reminded me of<a href="http://revsrules.blogspot.com/2008/09/ganguly-part-i-birth-and-entry-into-our.html"> Ganguly</a> who was born within a week of our arriving in hostel and for whom we cared for all the four years of college life.<br /><br />The movie reminded me of the umpteen times when my friends and I would sit outside the hostel at 3 in the morning with a packet of murukku or chips (minus the alcohol of course ;)), stare at the stars and moon, berate the educational system and shout “Die M*th*ra d*v*, die. May your soul burn in hell u miserable piece of rotting flesh”. MD was one of the most loathed professors on campus MAINLY because she knew nothing, was a failure in life and hence liked to pick on all students if they did well.<br /><br />It reminded me of the various Chaturs that I have come across while doing engineering whose only motto in life was marks and who would do anything to get them and who passed out of engineering having a percentage aggregate inversely proportional to the friends they had.<br /><br />It reminded me of the days when results would come out and all of us would crowd around the computer to see that magic last column of “P”s which meant all pass. Only a week later would we be bothered to look at the marks. On the day of the results all that mattered was the column of Ps.<br /><br />It reminded me of the time when inspite of having Ps we would all sit and cry because one of us would have that loathsome dreaded F.<br /><br />“The only thing which saddens you more than a friend who has failed is a friend who has topped” says Madhavan in the movie. A truer word was never spoken.<br /><br />Personally I could relate totally and absolutely to Madhavan’s character because Madhavan’s character was so totally me during engineering. Never doing very well, never having the guts to actually stand up and speak out against the system, always the person right in the middle of some mischief, always the “tinka” in some professors eye, never having the courage to actually pursue what I really wanted to, loathing engineering while enjoying every minute of my hostel life.<br /><br />If you have ever seen people succumb to the pressures of engineering, if you have ever wondered why in hells name does it matter whether you read books written by two useless Bakshi brothers on electronics and electrical engineering which anyway they copied from “foreign authors”, if you don’t remember jack shit of what a capacitor does or what color wires are what in circuits lab or what control systems are, if you have wondered how 2500 lines of doubly linked list code (shamelessly copied from <a href="http://logiconline.wordpress.com/">logic</a> and <a href="http://ragesggr.wordpress.com/">ragesh </a>- the two guys who really deserved to be computer science engineers) would help you get a job, if you have had friends whose parents weren’t very well off but who were excellent human beings, if you have had useless friends whose ideas of achievement were watching 4 movies back to back or sleeping 38 hours at a stretch, if you have cried more for a friend than for yourself, if you were at even one point of time in engineering willing to give your life for your friends, if you valued friendships more than silly marks, if you have hated all or most of your professors in college because they were cretins, if you have spent the 12 precious hours before the exams sitting in the hostel mess ,drinking chai and discussing the Indian educational system and its faults, if you have stared at an exam question paper and lost the blood on your face because not a single question looked familiar to you, if you have had professors saying gems like, “what is this smell coming out of my backside? I don’t like it”… <div><br /></div><div>if you have done any of the above you will most definitely enjoy and love 3 idiots<div><br />I am not saying the movie didn’t have its WTF moments<br /><br />You don’t try to look for your closest bosom friend for 10 long years and finally when u decide to do, its because the nerd of your class wanted to prove a point? - WTF<div><br />You wont send an invite to your closest friend for your wedding just because you don’t know where he is? - WTF. </div><div><br />You say Aaal izzz well and a still born baby jumps to life - WTF</div><div><br />You use a vaccum cleaner to pump out a baby out of the mother? - epic WTF (they could have proved that he was an excellent engineer in a million other ways.)<br /><br />And so on. But at the end of the movie I walked out of the hall feeling all warm and gooey and nice inside, not to mention the salty water in my pupils which resulted out of my thinking about my college days, my friends, the food and a gazillion different things. it’s a movie which is a laugh riot in the first half, so much so that you laugh so much for one scene your laughter drowns the humor in the next dialogue so u control those guffaws so u don’t miss the jokes.</div><div>Especially the speech given by Chatur is HILARIOUS. (an amazing actor.). </div><div><br />Enough said. Please watch the movie. :-)<br /><br /></div></div></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-18454033251142718282009-12-21T22:53:00.000+05:302009-12-21T22:54:49.078+05:30'Paa'rvaillai<div>Paa is what the title suggests it is. Paarvailla or "not bad" in Tamil. Following are my thoughts</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1</b>. R.Balki, BAD idea to have jaya bacchaan read out the credits. I mean yeah its innovative and has never been done in indian cinema but there was something so artificial and false about it, by the time she finished with your name we were all kind of cringing. And I think the least Jaya Bacchan could have done was practise saying Ilayaraja and desist from pronouncing Ilayaraja like an "Amit". I cringe almost every time when northies amitise tamil names</div><div><br /></div><div><b>2</b>. The movie might as well have been named Maa or Bum or Auro. The mother son and grandmother so relationhip was shown more than the father son relationship. They dewelled so much on the whole "redevelopment politician" it makes you wish they had spent that time in building the father son relationship</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3</b>. What in HELLS name was that whole doordarshan expose thing? That was definitely pukeworthy in the movie. I mean agreed the media go overboard and all that but the way Abhishek Bacchan gets back at them and makes it seem like the smartest thing to do. Ewwww.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>4</b>. I think my most favorite character in the movie is this friend of Amitabh Bacchan's called Vishnu. Especially the scene where he is on the phone with Auro and he says stuff like "yaar mai creative aadmi hoon. Ab kya geometry algebra sab padhna" is LOL!! :D. Some of the dialogues are really funny/ Especially the "MP ka 'bum' blast" kinda silly third standard jokes.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>5</b>. Vidya Balan looks hot and is such a yummy mummy it makes you wonder why she doesnt appear in more such roles and why she chooses to act all hot when she can be homely and sweet. After Parinneta I liked her best in this.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>6</b>. Amitabh Bacchan is just a class apart. Though you are used to the deep baritone which says "Mere paas gaadi hai bungla hai..tumhaare paas kya hai?", and it takes you some time to get used to his voice saying "tumhara potty mere peth mein.." in that squeaky voice I dont think anyone else could have done justice to this role.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7</b>. One of the very good things about the movie was the total lack of melodrama. I mean there are no scenes where there is an "Aaa.aaa.aaa." music in the background when Auro cant play cricket or cant run or has a wheezing attack. He is treated just like a normal 12 year old boy and never does the progeria become the main part of any scene. I wish they had maintained that till the end and not had the "saat phera" wala scene. Another pukeworthy scene</div><div><br /></div><div><b>8</b>. I also felt it could have been cut in a lot of places and made into a much shorter movie and they could have concentrated on the father son relationship</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, my first movie in this vacation. Yayyyyyyyy!! Its so good to be back home, eating good food and watching movies and writing senseless blogs. Ahhhh!! Bliss :)</div><div><br /></div><div><b><u>P.S</u></b>: Jamnagar aint cold. Thank God!</div><div><br /></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-22463652695777109502009-10-19T14:59:00.008+05:302009-10-19T15:29:24.840+05:30Of sad alert messages<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>So I logged on to the Tamilnadu PF site to find out the status of my PF. I entered the wrong establishment code by mistake and following is the error message I got. WTH!!<div><br /><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wcXgdqM2rjg/Stw2guDOXVI/AAAAAAAABR8/RHLC8sNMapM/s400/abcd.bmp" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394246389428280658" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wcXgdqM2rjg/Stw4Pdmvi9I/AAAAAAAABSE/OVj6zoqV0ZM/s400/ene.bmp" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 354px; height: 126px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394248291979332562" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is the website of the employee provident fund organization's regional chennai office and the least you would expect is decent/grammatically correct alert messages and not an alert message which would make you think that Javed Jaffry's english in Salaam Namaste was good. Did no one test the site??</div><div>Sighhhh. "Establishment not exists"?? Ewwwwwww!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-50177652163319373222009-10-17T15:09:00.002+05:302009-10-17T15:21:07.073+05:30Diwali "Eve"<p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday a friend of mine burst into my room in the afternoon looking all flustered and worked up</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me:</b> hey. Whats up?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> You wont believe it man. Its broad daylight. 3 o clock in the afternoon. I had gone out to get an ice cream and I got eve teased.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">(Context: Right opposite to my college is a boy’s hostel of central polytechnic which consists of a bunch of sexually frustrated boys most of whom are just discovering their hormones. Needless to say anything even remotely female excites them and it’s a nightmare to go out alone after 6.30 because of the cat calls and whistles.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me</b>: Sighhh. You know what irks me most? The fact that we cant do anything about it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> Totally man. You know what she said in the gender class right? They are just trying to assert their masculinity by doing this</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me: </b>Mmm-hmm. They need to get into either the role of a protector or provider. When neither happens these good for nothing fellows go around teasing or else they feel emasculated. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> Yep. Its not about the fact that I went out in a pair of jeans. They would do it to a girl if she was in a salwar. Heck!! They would do it if they were blind but realized a girl was approaching them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me:</b> Hmmm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> We need to challenge the hermeneutics (If you don’t understand this word. Chill. Neither do we. We had just learnt it in class that day). Of the fact that men are supposed to be protectors and providers while women are just objects of pleasure or just plain objects.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me:</b> The whole gender equation must change man. I mean who decides what are the characteristics of a man and what are the characteristics of a woman. These are just mere constructs of society which we need to challenge</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> Very true. Enough of this weaker sex nonsense and all the inequalities we put up with. And you know these incidents make me feel so cheap. Like I were some piece of trash or something. Sometimes I want to just turn around and lash at them but its no use I know. It would just provoke them to tease me further and frankly I don’t think they are worth it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me:</b> True True. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> Sighhhh.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me:</b> Hmmm. What did he say by the way? The usual whistling and cat calls and acting smart by trying to cycle right on top of you? Something obscene I am sure. Cha!! *coupla bad words*</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Friend:</b> Errr. He said “Happy Diwali”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">LOL!! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is what happens when you have gender classes continuously for a week and are so full of fresh ideas and thoughts and perspectives that you seem to want to debate and question everything!! Ohhh!! I love education!! :-)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Happy Diwali to you guys and errrr.. Nope I aint eve teasing!! :P</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-46943807333691864622009-10-07T17:44:00.005+05:302009-10-07T17:57:55.211+05:30Honestly....Honored!! :)<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So <a href="http://destinychildosheen.blogspot.com/">Rajalakshm</a>i presented me with the Honest Scrap Award AND tagged me.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wcXgdqM2rjg/SsyHCLd5q7I/AAAAAAAABOQ/BwamaJtAgWg/s400/honestscrapaward.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 194px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389831325563333554" /></div><div><br /></div><div>The rules are:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>“When accepting this auspicious award, you must write a post bragging about it, including the name of the misguided soul who thinks you deserve such acclaim, and link back to the said person so everyone knows she/he is real. Choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have seven friends. Show the seven random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog. Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon. List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself. Then pass it on!”</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Thanks a lot <a href="http://destinychildosheen.blogspot.com/">Raji</a></div><div><br /></div><div>So here are 10 honest things about me...</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1) </b>I love the sound of my own voice. Most of the times I just talk aimlessly without actually having anything to talk about. And I can talk rubbish for HOURS and not get tired. A coupla days back I saw this movie called “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” where Jim Carrey says “Constantly talking is NOT communicating”. I am like that sometimes. I don’t actually convey anything but will continuously keep talking. But that does not mean I am not a good listener. I can be a very good listener too.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>2)</b> I have this constant need to be in two places at the same time, to do two things at the same time. Nothing satisfies me. When I was in IT I wanted to do journalism, now that I am doing journalism I want to do adventure sports or biking or something. Hmmm. Maybe I will do that some day :-)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3) </b>Don’t kill me but I ACTUALLY like the movie "Mujhse Dosti Karoge" and I have seen that movie ummm 3 times and find the part in the end where the sindoor aligns itself properly on Rani Mukherji’s head HILARIOUS. :rolling eyes:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>4)</b> Maybe this makes me sound like a saint (which I am NOT BTW) but I cannot say No to people, friends especially. I know this sounds terrible but I d rather lie than say no to a friend. (Ok!! I had to be honest right?)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>5)</b> I cry VERY easily. :P. No Honest. I am sure all my close friends would breathe a sigh of relief when they read this because I am FINALLY being honest about this. :P. My tear taps are always hyper active. I cry for a LOT of movies (and for every movie that I cry for I declare it’s the only movie I have cried for :P), I cry when I read books, blogs (literature can really move me, really), I cry when I listen to a particular kind of music, I cry when I think of the fact that my grandmother and parents are becoming old and ohhhh I cry for a lot of other things which I am rather embarrassed to mention. But I am particular about who sees me crying. I prefer to cry alone or when I am with people from my first circle in my circles of trust. :-)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>6)</b> My General Knowledge is pathetic. Yesterday I was asked to write about the elections which happened in Japan. I didn’t even know they had had an election recently, I didn’t know if Japan was a democracy or a regime or a communist state or if it was ruled by a man or woman let alone the name. I find this extremely shameful given the fact that I want to be a journalist and I don’t know shit about current affairs.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7)</b> I talk a lot to myself. I have always had that habit. I talk when I am walking alone on the road, going in a bus/train etc. It helps me sort out a lot of stuff when I am talking with myself and since I am a HUGELY impulsive person it really helps to have someone to talk to instantly who will tell me what I am doing is wrong. My conscience is much wiser than I am. There times when I have drafted a mail (I shall refrain from revealing its contents :P) and then talked to myself with the mouse hovering over the send button and then eventually clicked on cancel and have been extremely grateful about that.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>8) </b>For a girl, I eat very very well. Close friends know my summer menu/winter menu. :P. Both my sister and I eat considerably well. I think it’s just the way amma/paati brought us up. One thing which we were never refused when we were children was food and there always seemed to be enough food at home to feed an army. As a result of which we have phenomenal appetites which can be kind of tough when we visit homes of people with normal appetites and I feel like Oliver Twist asking “Can I have some more please”. I can eat 4 chapatis and rice and dal and curd rice and ice cream. I relish good food but I usually never complain about bad food. I was hugely overweight till a couple of years back.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the biggest jokes in the family (about me obviously) is that once we went to a restaurant when I was a kid and after eating quite well I apparently looked around and asked “no thayir sadam?”. And another one was when we went to this beautiful lake called Pichavaram near Chidambaram when I was a five, our boat capsized, got caught in quick sand and we had to swim our way to the shore and after reaching the shore the first thing I said was “I am hungry, when are we eating?” :P. These are my parents’ favorite anecdotes at family get togethers even NOW. Sighh. Parents. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>9)</b> I find it very very difficult to trust people and lest you think its because of my "PAST" relationships or some shit rest assured its nothing like that. I am just cynical when it comes to trusting people. I talk with everyone but trust very very few people. It takes some time before I can allow people inside my circles of trust.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>10)</b> I am a very very superficial person. Meaning I have no depth. Errr.. not to say I am 2D. It’s just that I can’t think profound thoughts or appreciate deep stuff. Slap it on my face and I will understand it, sugar coat it or try to give it to me indirectly and the expression on my face will make Moose in Archie Comics look like Albert Einstein. This is the primary reason why Alchemist never made any sense to me. I mean all the while I knew he was trying to tell me something but not directly and hence I never understood or appreciated it. I love PG Wodehouse/ RKN/ Roald Dahl/ Archer/ James Herriott/ Bill Bryson because they say it like it is. For me book reading is a pleasure activity. I d die if I have to interpret each and every line and find newer meanings every time I read it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Phew!! That’s done. Was fun doing it :-) and following are the people I tag. (I cant think of 7 people to tag)</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://meltingmasks.wordpress.com/">Amilie</a> - coz I always tag her!!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://saystays.blogspot.com/">Karthik</a> - he last updated during his birth as Shakuni uncle of the Kauravas :P</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://arun-bohemianwanderer.blogspot.com/">Arun</a> - He has been so busy doing carics i really want to read stuff written by him!! :)</div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-48722988962227943342009-09-30T23:56:00.008+05:302009-10-01T00:19:09.883+05:30Lets Meet!! *GROAN*<div style="text-align: left;">Nowadays I shudder every time I see the words “weekend plan”, “XYZ’s birthday – what plan” , “meet up”, “guys – what plans” on the subject line in my mails. Even something as harmless as “Hi guys” can send shivers down my spine.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>These terror mails are mostly started by either Yellow or Aki the two people who constantly strive to keep our group together (which is a euphemistic way of saying they are pretty jobless. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I know coz a coupla months back I was one of the few “striving to keep the group together”:P). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Don’t get me wrong. I love these guys. Honestly I have known them for so long that meeting them is always a pleasure but not when I have to read 73 mails (NO exaggeration. Check image). And even after reading 73 mails I am pretty clueless about the “meet”.</p><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wcXgdqM2rjg/SsOkJv1G5cI/AAAAAAAABMQ/IYCCg_seXiI/s400/for+blog.bmp" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 16px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387330066630239682" /><p class="MsoNormal">When I was working it was a different thing. I would check my mails 3 times every second and could delete mails faster than they were produced by my friends. But now with me checking mails just about twice during the day the amount of backlog I have is HUGE (as if backlogs in assignments weren’t enough) and at the end of the day there seems to be no consensus about the place, time, day date of the meet. </p><p class="MsoNormal">So though I get to know valuable facts like F had dosa with sauce for breakfast (ewwww) and that N is on a diet, which essentially means she will eat chocolates only twice a day instead of four times and that yellow’s manager has loud conversations on the phone and that A’s onsite coordinator appreciates her work (its very rare u see so she makes sure we all hear of it) and lots of other things, I am COMPLETELY clueless about the actual “Meet” which was the purpose of the mail.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So a frustrated me sits at 5 in the evening after my classes and patiently reads those mails trying to find out if ANY of those 73 mails even remotely talks about <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>the meet. Nope!! Though there are a BUNCH of excuses given for not being able to come to the meet and other inane conversations no proper plans of a birthday surprise or a meet. Trust me it IS a pain when u go through EACH AND EVERY mail, when u click on each and every one of those 73 little tabs to find out what the other person has said and still remain as clueless as ever.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And following are the top excuses which are given by the “group” to not attend a meet. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>1. </b><i>I can’t come because I have to take a bath man. So you guys carry on</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal">(No shit. The person who has used this excuse has not only used it once but several times as a result of which we have stopped calling her for the meets. Cleanliness is before Friendliness apparently :P)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><b>2. </b>The sun is too hot on Sundays. I don’t like to come out on a Sunday</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal">LOL!! :D. This is my favorite excuse. And the rest of us would go, “eh??? Errr. Dude!! The same sun shines all through the week. How can it be any hotter or colder on Sunday. If anything it should probably take a break and shine less on Sunday”.. But this person can be excused because when the sun is not “too” hot she always makes it to the meet AND on time. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>3. </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Hey I am on a diet. So if we go out we are BOUND to eat out and that’s bad for my diet. Please. This is my first sincere attempt at dieting (YAWN!!). Don’t spoil it. Why don’t you come over to my place?</span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">The person who gives this excuse lives in one godforsaken corner of the city and reaching that place is like undertaking an expedition. So all of us politely back out!! :P. </p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><b>4. </b><i>My parents are sleeping. Someone has to lock the door if I leave. Sorry I can’t come</i>. Gee. That’s seriously the lamest I have heard till date. Ermm.. How long would it take to drop a vessel in the kitchen, act like it was by mistake, wake a parent and ask them to lock the door? </p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><b>5. </b><i>I have to study for my mock CAT (*YAWWWWN!!*).</i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">The person who uses this excuse would probably excel in CAT if they posed questions about sleeping patterns of humans and had average sleeping time as a criterion for admissions. </span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><b>6. </b><i>I have office.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></i></span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Sometimes genuine but most frequently abused excuse. Used when you are actually lazy to go out and so call up a friend and say “office maaan!! Soo sorry” :P</span></i></span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span style="mso-bidi-mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin;font-family:Calibri;"><span><b>7</b></span><span style="mso-list:Ignore">.<span style="font:7.0pt &quot;Times New Roman&quot;"> </span></span></span><i>It’s my mother in law’s birthday guys</i>. </span></i></span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">Sighhhhh!! No comments.</span></i></span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span style="mso-bidi-mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin;font-family:Calibri;"><span><b>8</b></span><span style="mso-list:Ignore">.<span style="font:7.0pt &quot;Times New Roman&quot;"> <i> </i></span></span></span><i>I have assignment</i>s.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></i></span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>The person giving this excuse is an extremely nice person who usually makes it for every meet so she can be excused :P</span></i></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal">So these are some of the most commonly used/abused excuses. And FINALLY by the time we actually reach a consensus, decide on a date and time we realize that it’s Monday and we have effectively lost the weekend in mailing each other. (We quit calling each other long time ago when we realized that all of us are equally bad at picking up the phone and answering calls or talking sense for more than 28 seconds.) </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Effectively by the end of the day we have a terribly bad strike rate. Out of 25 meets planned 3 materialize and only 1 has all of us together (in which everyone will forget to bring the camera so we don’t even have any proof of THAT one meet when we were all together.). Going by statistics the only times when we have succeeded in meeting without hearing any excuses from anyone were the times when someone got married. And that was in December of last year. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think it’s time someone got married. It’s been quite long since I saw everyone together. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lets meet!! :P</p> <p class="MsoNormal">P.S: I am GLAD gmail shows all 73 mails as just one mail. Imagine having to open 73 different mails and delete them one by one. *Shudders uncontrollably*</p><p></p>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-40571432243810566502009-09-19T19:59:00.003+05:302009-09-19T20:07:56.666+05:30Natural Haircut or a Haircut in Naturals? Former for me please!! :-\<p class="MsoNormal">Now I am one of those people who hate getting a haircut. I get a haircut once a year when I go home and this is not because I think I need a haircut but because you can get haircuts done for really cheap rates in Jamnagar. Yeahhh!! I am a cheapo because I just don’t (will not) understand the funda behind spending anything more than 50 bucks for a haircut. Though in essence, that’s what this whole post is about. About how I almost had to sell my kidneys to pay for a haircut. Sighhh.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Am not a cheapo any more. No sir.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway so about three weeks back I realized that it had been a year since I last went home and my hair errr…euphemistically put would make birds look lovingly at my head and go “Sighhh. Home Sweet Home”. Don’t get me wrong. I love animals and all that but not when they are thinking of starting a family on top my head. (I better be careful about what I say about animals. You say something as harmless as cattle class and a whole bunch of anally retentive politicos will start letting out steam). </p><p class="MsoNormal">I am digressing. Where was I? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yeah so I realized I was majorly overdue for a haircut because given my trichotillomania and my hair which is prone to split ends I had hair of varying length all over my head and let aside looking lady like, I didn’t even look human.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I set out to get a haircut done. Now never having had a haircut done in Chennai I had absolutely no idea about the rates. So I started calculating. Since Jamnagar last saw civilization in….. oops. Sorry. Jamnagar has never seen civilization. My bad. So since Jamnagar has never seen civilization it was but obvious that the rates in Chennai would be say three times more than the rates in Jamnagar. So I guessed that a haircut in Chennai would set me back by 150 bucks. Not bad I thought. Given the fact that I had last gotten a haircut 15 months back it wasn’t bad at all. But yet I thought it would be better to ask coupla friends. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I sent out a message saying “Hey. How much do you guys pay for a haircut in Chennai man?” to about 4 of my friends. And I got replies from two of them saying “Depends on the parlor and the cut” and I sent back an “eh?”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My friends knowing me elucidated that there were different ways in which you could get your hair cut, called U, V, W etc and depending on the cut you would be charged. So how much for a straight cut I asked and the casual reply I got was “Ohh. About 250-300”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I freaked. 250-300 bucks for a bloody haircut? Who was I? Julia Roberts? Hell!! ideally beauty parlours ought to be paying me coz I am GIVING them MY hair. 300 is what I spend in 6 years for a haircut. So I decided to ask in a couple of parlors. First I went to L’Oreal (Sighhhh) coz that was closest and I walked in and asked them the rates. I shall not repeat the price for many a faint audience might suddenly choke and die. So I gasped uncouthly at the receptionist when she told me the price and made a hurried exit.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Next stop was Naturals (double Sighhh!!) where I was told that I would be charged 250 bucks. Now in relative comparison to the price I heard in L’oreal, Naturals sounded so cheap I agreed at once and sat to get a haircut done. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">12 minutes. I counted. She cut my hair for 12 minutes and I sat there stupidly for 2 minutes when she came and told me “Over madam” and I gawked. What?? I had paid almost 25 bucks a minute for this express haircut?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hmmm. How much?” I asked</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“275 ma’am” replied the receptionist with perfectly made eyebrows, delicately powdered nose and bright red lipstick</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“umm. You said 250 right?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah ma’am. But with tax it will work out to 275. Cash or card?” she smiled sweetly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I looked in my wallet and found a lone 100 rupee note laughing almost derisively at me as if saying “Ha ha. And you thought I would be enough to pay for your haircut? Sheeesh”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Card” I grunted</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I came out with 275 bucks less in my already impoverished account. (I am a student remember. Its been 3 months since I last received a salary) and a couple of hairs less on my head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My cell beeped. I opened the message morosely and it read</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hey sorry. Was sleeping so couldn’t reply. It will cost you 80-100 bucks for a straight cut in Green Trends”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It took everything in me to muster all the self respect I had and not sit in the middle of the road and bawl shamelessly. Green Trends was two streets away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sighhhh. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think I will next get a haircut when I am 37 years old and I am NOT going to Naturals!! GAH!!!</p>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-77659905265501360802009-09-16T19:13:00.003+05:302009-09-16T20:22:09.691+05:30Of easy exams, strange students and electives<div>Had an anti climax of a test today. My first open book test in college and I dunno what i expected that i studied like it was an IIT entrance exam or something. </div><div><br /></div><div>Its like you study for a paper of Advanced Mathetmatics and the question you get is "Please add two, two digit numbers (Calculators allowed)"</div><div><br /></div><div>Bah!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway not that I am complaining about the paper being easy and all that but saala mazaa nahi aaya paper likhte waqt. You know the usual reactions ranging from "Is this the subject I studied for" and glancing at the title to confirm your suspicions to "Do I know enough to pass" to counting every mark of yours to see if you are anywhere near the border to "How long will it take to study all this shit again if i fail" was all missing. But a part of me is also immensely glad because I have had it uptil here with exams. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is liberating to be in a college where they give you truckloads and truckloads of assignments and say no to exams. It is so much more easier and helps improve your understanding if you ACTUALLY do the assignments than sitting on your backside and reading for some shitty exam. One of the main reasons I joined this college was because the prospectus said "no exams" and like all colleges which lie through their teeth, we are having exams for a couple of papers this term but if they are as easy as this one was then all i can say is "Bring it on" :)</div><div><br /></div><div>I somehow cannot understand the attitude of people who hound the lecturer after class to ask "doubts". I mean what is so secretive and special about your doubt that you cant ask it in class in front of everyone? Or do you think that the lecturer will suddenly reveal something which will help you become the best journalist? Or do you believe that the lecturer's intellignece will rub off on you if you stand close enough to him/her? I just don't get it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is not one stray lecture/lecturer I am talking about. But lecture after lecture the same people hound the lecturer and if thats not enough there are a couple others who probably think they will choke and die if they sit in their seats for one more second when they see some other person asking a doubt and they will go and swarm around the lecturer and furiously take down notes. </div><div><br /></div><div>So effectively one person has a doubt and goes to clear it but ultimately 10 people are standing around the lecturer, nodding their heads prosaiclly though they probably cant make head or tail of what he is saying. But hey thats ok, because we are atleast standing there and not losing out on any pearls of information thrown by the lecturer. DUH!! This goes on till someone has to come and shoo these people like flies and rescue the lecturer. I mean seriously. The average age here is 23 or probably more. And yet this kind of 5th standard behavior. Sighhhhhh. </div><div><br /></div><div>Submitted my elective choices today. I hope I get my environment and gender electives. I loved those two lectures and are probably the only two things I am passionate about. Aaaaaaaaaaaah!!! </div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20610108.post-31872041111031631682009-09-15T01:17:00.002+05:302009-09-15T01:20:52.892+05:30India Won....Yayyyyyyy!! :)<div>Nothing helps people bond like cricket does. </div><div><br /></div><div>Come a cricket match and you find yourself slapping hi fives and hugging people whom you generally wouldnt touch with a barge pole and people whose rightful place, you thought, was either the kindergarten or a drug rehabilitation centre. Yesterday's India Srilanka match was one such. Every wicket, every run, every sixer and every four, found us hooting and shouting like banshees bringing down the entire hostel. </div><div><br /></div><div>You watch a cricket match and you realise people arent that bad. What IS bad is probably your perception of that person and your pre conceived notions about him/her. I am not coming to say that I watched the match with people who were descendants of Mother Theresa, who I originally thought were flesh and blood of Saddam Hussein, but you know, you just learn to look beyond certain flaws of people and enjoy that particular moment of pure ecstasy when you see Sachin come up to collect the Man of the Match and Man of the Series award.</div><div><br /></div><div>Aaaah!! Am getting too philosophical aint I? :-|</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, Its also funny to watch a match when you have a couple of Srilankans around you. Every time you cheer you warily look around to see if you have offended that person and grin sheepishly. And you try to get the people from other SAARC countries to support you and root for your country. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh it was nothing like the cricket matches I have seen in hostel in SSN where atleast 50 of us would be huddled in the TV room to watch a match and completely lose it when India won. This doesnt even come close to that but my first match watching experience in ACJ has been good.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is the first time I have seen it with such a Pan Indian audience.Right from Punjab to Bombay to Delhi to Kolkata to Chennai, people from all over bowing before GOD (read: Tendulkar). Wowww!! An experience indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>When you are in India there is NOTHING that promotes communal harmony better than cricket. Trust me, NOTHING!!</div>Revshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06011093878116665635noreply@blogger.com1